Sorcerer Killer in Westeros [Toji SI]

[Fanfictionlord]

The sky was annoyingly bright today.

That was the first thing Toji's mind registered as he lay on his back, staring up. Even more annoying was the heavy feeling in his body.

None of his limbs listened to him. He felt weak. Weaker than he'd ever been.

"Tch." He clicked his tongue.

Weak.

The word disgusted him more than anything. Ever since he had walked out of the Zenin compound, no one had dared call him that. He'd put every bastard who tried six feet under the ground.

But facts were facts.

There was a hole in his torso—a perfect circle of nothing, bored clean through his gut from front to back. His insides—at least whatever remained of them—were visible at the edges, shredded by whatever purple blast that Gojo brat had thrown at him.

Even breathing hurt. Every inhale scraped across his chest like broken glass.

He was weak in every possible way, and his time was running out. Call it a killer's instinct. He could feel it in his bones.

As he lay there, waiting for death to claim him, a woman's face floated through his mind.

His wife. Sakura Fushiguro.

He hadn't thought about her in years. He had buried those memories so deep he'd almost convinced himself they belonged to someone else. But now, lying in the dirt with half his body missing, the memories came flooding back.

Her beautiful face. Those long dark locks. The way she laughed. The way she held his hand while walking through the market. The way she looked at him—not with fear or pity like others, but with something he'd never known before she came into his life.

Love.

He didn't deserve it. He knew that even then. But she had given it anyway.

And then she died, entrusting him with a child he never asked for and never knew how to raise.

"Megumi."

The name surfaced in his head.

The boy wasn't like him. He was talented, having inherited the Ten Shadows Technique—the very technique that made the Zenin clan what it was today. They would kill to have one in their midst again. He'd be valued, protected, and trained to be one of the strongest jujutsu sorcerers of the era.

That's what Toji had told himself when he sold the kid like merchandise.

He'd told himself it was for the best. That he—a killer and a gambler—was unfit to raise a child. Same for Tsumiki. She was better off without him.

But those were just excuses to rationalize his actions. In reality, he was afraid. Afraid of failing them. Afraid of caring too much. Afraid of watching someone else he loved slip away.

So he ran. He sold Megumi, abandoned Tsumiki, and ran.

And now he was dying, and his children were still out there somewhere, alone, carrying the weight of a father who had abandoned them.

A bitter sigh escaped his lips.

He was a terrible husband and an even worse father.

Maybe... he really deserved to die.

As he was lost in his regrets, the sound of footsteps drifted in from the distance, approaching him.

Toji didn't need to turn his head to know who it was.

Gojo Satoru. The Gojo clan's golden boy. They'd never been subtle about the Six Eyes and Limitless making a comeback. Toji had heard the rumors for years. They called the brat a once-in-a-generation freak, declaring to the whole jujutsu society that he'd be the strongest sorcerer of the modern era.

Toji had heard that kind of talk his whole life. The Zenin clung to the same logic. To them, talent was decided at birth, and strength was measured by inherited techniques.

Toji sort of agreed with them. And for that very reason, he loved taking the heads of the talented ones the most—just to see the look on their faces when they realized the guy taking their life didn't have a drop of cursed energy.

He thought Gojo Satoru would be the same. So when the commission to take the brat's head landed in his hands, he accepted it without a second thought.

And oh, man—when his blade pierced through the boy's throat, he savored the look of shock in those eyes. Those star-like eyes everyone kept praising.

The expression on the brat's face when he realized that his clan's prized Limitless was as fragile as paper against him still sent a wave of satisfaction through whatever was left of Toji's body.

For a brief moment, the sorcerer destined to be the strongest of the modern era looked just like any other human. He could bleed and die. All at the mercy of Toji's blade—a blade wielded by a man with zero cursed energy.

His only regret was not chopping the brat's head off when he had the chance. Instead, he had walked away, sure the job was done.

Who'd have guessed the kid would figure out Reverse Cursed Technique on death's door and bounce back?

In the end, Toji ended up helping him get even stronger.

That part… even now, lying here, pissed him off.

"Tch."

Maybe there was some truth to those rumors.

Perhaps Gojo Satoru really was meant to be the strongest of this era, if he wasn't already.

The footsteps stopped.

A shadow fell across Toji's face.

Toji looked up, meeting eye to eye with Gojo Satoru, now standing directly over him.

His white hair shifted faintly in the breeze as he stared down at Toji's crumbling body. His Six Eyes were filled with detached calmness—completely different from the arrogant brat he had been in their previous confrontation.

'Did he get humbled?' Toji wondered for a second.

He dismissed the thought just as quickly.

That edgy dialogue the brat had said before throwing that purple blast at him was still fresh in his memory.

'Throughout Heaven and Earth, I alone am the honored one.'

That didn't sound humble to Toji. So it was probably the opposite. Gojo Satoru had climbed to a whole new level of arrogance.

'The brat thinks he's a god now.' An amused grin tugged at Toji's lips. What an irony. It reminded him of himself not long ago—that certainty that nothing could touch him, that no one could stand against him.

It was exactly that arrogance that had led him to this state.

He knew the brat was bad news when he came back from the dead. He could have run away. Gojo Satoru wouldn't have been able to catch him—Toji was faster. But he didn't. His pride as the Sorcerer Killer wouldn't let him.

He didn't believe some snot-nosed brat who hadn't even grown hair down there could ever be his match. So he decided to tank what was probably the kid's strongest attack head-on and paid the price for it.

And now... Toji saw the same arrogance in Gojo Satoru.

Maybe it'd be the reason for his downfall too. He hoped so.

"Still alive?" A calm and detached voice drifted into Toji's ears.

Toji let out a faint breath that might've been a laugh. 'Yeah, the brat's lost his mind.'

He didn't answer right away. His throat was as dry as a desert and his lips felt cracked. But his eyes remained fixed on Gojo.

Silence stretched between them.

Then Toji spoke. "I've got a son."

His voice was barely a whisper, his throat burning with every word as he tasted the metallic tang of blood pooling at the back of his mouth.

"Megumi." As he continued, Toji's vision started to blur at the edges. "He's getting sold to the Zenin clan soon. Do whatever you want with that information."

The words hung in the air.

Toji didn't know what he was hoping for by telling Gojo this. Maybe a different path for Megumi and Tsumiki. But the kid didn't owe him anything.

If anything, they were enemies. He'd tried to kill the brat less than an hour ago. So this was a gamble—the only kind Toji had left up his sleeve.

Gojo was quiet for a long moment.

Toji couldn't read his expression from this angle; the sun was behind him, turning his face into shadow. But he could feel those Six Eyes staring down at him, analyzing and processing.

Then the brat spoke in that same detached tone. "I see."

That was it. He only said two words. No promise or reassurance. But in that moment, Toji caught something in his eyes—a flicker of understanding, maybe, or just curiosity.

That was all he needed.

His eyes closed, and then the world went dark.

Toji Fushiguro—the man known as the Sorcerer Killer, the Ghost of the Zenin—ceased to be, killed at the hands of the strongest sorcerer in history.

...

Westeros, 284 AC — The North, a small village in Bolton domain

Toji found himself floating in an endless void. There was no sense of direction, no up or down, no body to anchor himself to reality. Even his thoughts felt distant, as if they belonged to someone else.

He just mindlessly drifted from one place to another.

After an unknown amount of time, he felt a strange pull tug at him, and he instinctively drifted toward it.

'Where the hell am I?' His consciousness stirred, sluggish and confused. There was some strange liquid pressing down on him from all sides. He tried to survey his surroundings, but his vision was unresponsive.

There were sounds above him. A woman screaming, and another voice talking with urgency.

Then something shifted.

The woman above him screamed again, louder this time, and the liquid pressurized and surged. There was a rush, and he was moving.

His entire world contracted. He felt his skull compress, his shoulders fold, his entire form contort to fit through a gap that seemed impossibly small.

Before he could process it, everything changed.

'What the—'

A searing light pierced through his closed eyelids, sharp enough to make his entire body twitch in response. Cold followed right after, hitting his skin like countless tiny blades stabbing into him all at once.

Toji gasped as air rushed into his lungs violently. The sensation felt foreign and painful.

His limbs flailed on their own, completely out of his control. His senses were overwhelmed. There was too much to process all at once. His ears rang, filled with a chaotic mixture of sounds that refused to form into anything coherent. His head throbbed as if the world itself had been flipped upside down.

Everything was unbearably bright, deafeningly loud, and freezing cold.

A sudden urge to let out a cry hit him. It was reflexive, and Toji almost gave in, but he managed to clamp down on it at the last second.

Crying? Him? What a joke!

Slap!

A raw wail tore out of his throat as he felt stinging pain on his butt.

As his body was turned upright, Toji forced open his tearful eyes. His vision, still blurry and unfocused, caught sight of a looming figure above him.

At first, it was nothing more than a distorted shape, far too large and impossibly close. But slowly, details began to form.

It was an old woman, her hair gray and her skin weathered like old leather. Strangely, he was being held in her arms.

Toji glared at her. Or at least, he tried to. His body barely cooperated, his face failing to convey even a fraction of the hostility he felt.

Still, he pushed as much murderous intent as he could into the stare.

The bitch had just slapped him on the butt!

And worse, he had cried!

He, Toji Fushiguro. The Sorcerer Killer. The man who'd walked off wounds that would have killed anyone else had been reduced to tears by a single slap from an old woman who had one foot in the grave.

It was a humiliation of the highest level!

The old woman seemed amused by his reaction, letting out a soft chuckle. She turned her head slightly and spoke to someone else in the room.

Toji only saw her lips move. His hearing was still offline. All he heard were muffled vibrations, as if he were underwater.

A soft, feminine yet exhausted voice replied from somewhere nearby.

The old woman nodded and smiled faintly before shifting her grip. Toji felt himself being wrapped in something warm, blocking the biting cold against his skin. A moment later, he was lifted and passed into another pair of arms. They were trembling but held him with more care and gentleness.

Toji's blurry vision tilted upward. And then he froze.

The face that came into view was that of a young woman, her features soft despite the exhaustion etched into them. Golden-brown hair clung damply to her forehead and neck, strands sticking to her flushed skin. Sweat glistened faintly under the dim light as she panted.

The woman was beautiful. And she had just gone through something extremely laborious by the looks of it.

But what made him hold his breath were her eyes.

Emerald green, filled with an emotion he was familiar with and unfamiliar with at the same time. Toji shifted uncomfortably under her stare.

'Why is everything so fuckin' huge?' Toji thought, trying to distract himself from the look the woman was giving him.

At first, he dismissed it as part of the overwhelming sensory overload, but the more his mind stabilized, the more glaring the detail became.

Looking down, he caught a glimpse of his hands. They appeared different from how he remembered them. Although his vision was still a bit blurry, he was sure his hands weren't that small and chubby.

Suspicion started to tug at him, and as he mentally retraced the chain of events, a new possibility began to take shape in his mind.

The towering figures weren't giants.

He had shrunk!

'I've… become a goddamn baby?!' Toji was completely baffled. 'How is that even possible?!'

The absurdity of the situation made him question his sanity. He wasn't the religious type. He didn't believe in reincarnation, rebirth, or any of that metaphysical nonsense. Only the weak clung to such fantasies.

For a moment, Toji wondered if he was under the influence of some technique. But he dismissed it just as quickly. All of this was far too detailed for a technique. No cursed technique could be this flawless.

Then was he really...?

A variety of emotions surged through him all at once: disbelief, denial, wariness, irritation, and at last, warmth.

'Wait… warmth?' Toji was jolted out of his thoughts.

It wasn't coming from the woman holding him—his now supposed mother—nor from the cloth wrapped around his body.

The warmth was inside him, nestled somewhere deep in his chest. His attention snapped inward on instinct, and he willed it to move.

A small wisp of the warmth separated from the core in his chest and began to travel slowly down his arm.

It flowed like liquid heat through his underdeveloped limb before gathering at his palm, concentrating there for a brief moment before his focus wavered and it scattered.

For a split second, Toji's mind went completely blank.

Then it hit him.

'…Cursed energy.'